


The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

by LivingInSmilesIsBetter (axm)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Finale spoilers, Mortinez, Reveal, jenry, sharing a bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axm/pseuds/LivingInSmilesIsBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is, unabashedly, a four times it almost happened - and one time it did fic. Four times a tipsy/drunk/hungover Henry and Jo almost kissed on the lips - and one time they actually, finally, did. Sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One will be familiar - it's part of my tumblr drabble series 'My Drabble is a Short One'. I wanted to take that drabble further, and that want sparked this five chapter story. The other four chapters are all new. Chapter five isn't spec, but it is based on finale spoilers, so keep that in mind and don't read if you're spoiler-free.
> 
> No Forever this week :( Better fill the week with fic, and some fluff, before the finale rips our hearts out, eh?
> 
> WHY can't I stop writing reveal fics? (after some thought on this it's obvious it's because I need ALL the Mortinez fics, and I refuse to allow Mortinez to happen without Jo knowing the truth first)
> 
> The title's going to make sense at the end of the fifth chapter :)

Jo cracked her eyes open, the sound of movement rousing her from sleep.

Strange bed, unfamiliar room, sheets that smelled decidedly masculine.

_Shit._

A figure moved past the open bedroom door and relief washed over her - but slight confusion remained.

"Henry?"

She attempted to sit up but the pounding in her head forced her back down on the mattress. A low groan left her dry lips, muffled by her hands.

"Morning, Detective."

Head in her hands, she slid her fingers down until she could see Henry standing beneath the doorframe smiling warmly at her.

"Is this-?" Henry's bed. Huh. That was new. "Why am I in your bed?" she asked in a failed attempt at an even tone.

"Because Lucas is on the couch."

"Of course." She flattened her palms over her eyes again, trying to block the light streaming in from the hall. "What time did we get here?"

"About three hours ago."

"Where did you sleep?" she asked the ceiling.

"I didn't."

"Henry," she said on a sigh.

"I assure you I'm fine."

"Liar." Forcing herself to sit up, she squinted against the light. He leaned against the wooden frame, a bit dishevelled, exhaustion lining his face. She sighed at him in exasperation. "Sleep."

He opened his mouth to protest and she held up a hand to silence him and then laid it flat on the empty space beside her.

"You need to sleep."

"I'm fine."

"You're swaying. You're not fine." Checking she was still fully-clothed, unable to remember if she'd tugged any of her clothing off in her inebriated state, she lifted the sheet. There was enough light in the room to confirm that yes, she was still dressed. She pushed the sheet off, and eased her legs off the side of the bed.

Henry stood at the door, watching. "You need to sleep too," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I've had a couple of hours."

"Not nearly enough."

"Still more than you," she fired back from where she sat on the edge of the bed, head pounding, eyeing the floor, wondering if she was sober enough to walk a straight line. She didn't feel it. Her hands gripped the sheet beneath her and she sucked in a deep breath. Okay, she could do this.

Pushing himself away from the door, Henry shook his head at her. She could tell, from the tight lines that formed in the corners of his eyes, in his brow, that he instantly regretted that sudden movement.

What a pair they made.

The door closed behind him and he made his way over to the bed, her eyes slow to adjust in the dark room as she tried to focus on him. She felt the mattress dip behind her, heard the rustle of the sheets, and summoned the strength to walk out of the room without throwing up an evening's worth of alcohol. They went hard last night. Too hard. Tough case, long week, and the night out after solving it had been one for the record books.

"How'd we get here?" she asked, elbows on her thighs, head in her hands, her stomach in her throat and threatening to rise higher still.

"Abe," Henry confirmed from behind her. "Picked us up, brought us all back here, settled Lucas on the couch and then steered you to my room."

"And you?"

"Handed me clothes to change into, a cup of coffee, and a disapproving glare."

Jo huffed out a laugh into her hands.

"Hey," he said.

She felt his touch on her arm. Dragging her head from her palms, she turned with slow, careful movements to find him beneath the sheets, on his back, head on the pillow, watching her with sad eyes.

Patting the space she had vacated, he said, "Sleep."

She heaved a deep sigh. She desperately wanted to just lie back, close her eyes, and sleep as much of it off as she could. The idea of getting into a moving vehicle made her feel even greener than she did already, and home seemed so very far away.

Shifting onto her back, Jo avoided his eyes and settled back on the pillow again, her eyes slipped close - and the room started to spin. Oh, not good.

"I am never drinking again," she bemoaned. A soft chuckle sounded beside her. "Shut up, Henry," she warned. If she lay very still, everything would be fine. The room would settle, and perhaps she wouldn't power chuck all over her partner. "How's Lucas doing?"

"About as well as you'd expect."

"Is he conscious?"

"He's sleeping it off. Like you should be."

"And you," she reminded him.

"Yes," he placated.

But she was awake now, in pain, still drunk, but awake. "Nice pajamas, by the way."

"These were a gift."

"From Abe?"

"Yes, from Abe."

He sounded indignant, and it made her smile in the darkness. Turning, very, very slowly, onto her side, a hand slipped beneath the pillow and she leaned into it, her eyes now fixed on him, adjusting in the dim light and finding his profile. Curiosity got the better of her; she had him somewhat trapped on the bed beside her, and damn if she was going to let this moment pass without squeezing a little more information out of him.

"Is Abe the only family you have in the city?" She knew they weren't related, but the relationship they had, it seemed so familial she couldn't describe the two of them any other way.

He was silent for a moment, and then the mattress dipped and he turned onto his side, his eyes meeting hers.

"You've mentioned your father, but your mother, is she..?"

"Also deceased."

Her heart broke for him, for all the loss he'd endured. "I'm glad you have Abe," she mused out loud.

He was laying so close to her that despite the darkness she could see his eyes, and they softened as they held hers.

"Abe isn't the only family I have in this city."

Interest piqued, she asked, "Oh?" One corner of his lips quirked up in a smile, and Jo's head throbbed as the little twitch of his mouth made her frown, replay his words, read deeper into them, between them. "No, don't you dare get sappy on me now, Henry," she warned. "There's too much alcohol in my system for that."

"I've grown rather fond of you, Detective."

The detective didn't go unnoticed, the way he avoided her name, to rein in the emotion behind the words.

"What?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood that had settled upon them, this heavy, strange atmosphere that sparked with... _something_. "No backhanded compliment? No scientific explanation for that affection?"

He didn't respond, he just reached a hand out and tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear, his fingertips ghosting across her skin before he pulled his hand away.

She felt heat rising through her, heat that radiated out from her heart, made her feel loved.

"You're drunk," she told him in a gentle voice so low it was only just audible.

"In vino veritas," he replied.

"Mmmm," she hummed. "Or in cognac veritas."

"Drunk or sober," he began, holding her eyes with his, "the sentiment remains. This family grew by one when you entered our life, and there will always be a place at our table for you."

His words made her breath hitch; the affection she already felt for him, for Abe, settled deeper within her, and she was lost for words. It would have been easy to defuse the moment with sarcasm, but he deserved more than that this time. Her palm moved to cup the side of his face, his stubble rough against her skin, her thumb brushing the softer, smoother skin of his cheek. Rising up, she bridged the small distance between them and kissed his cheek sweetly. Her lips caressed his skin in a quick, gentle kiss, a thank you her words wouldn't have done justice, before she pulled back and gave him a soft smile. She let her thumb brush across his cheek once more, before her hand slipped from his face.

He caught it before it could fall back to rest against her side, and curled his hand in hers, until his fingers filled the spaces between hers and held tight.

"Sleep," she whispered in the darkness, her voice thick with emotion, a sudden lump in her throat.

He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her fingers. He let their hands rest against his heart, the rhythm of each beat resonating through the side of her hand, down to her bones, surging to her own heart.

Closing her eyes, needing to break away from the intense gaze burning through her, she could still feel his heart drumming along against her hand, could still smell his comforting scent, could still hear his words replaying in her mind.

The room had stopped spinning, her stomach had settled, and a warmth started to diffuse into the empty places in her heart to fill it again.

"Sleep," Henry murmured, repeating her words back to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Her heart swelled in her chest, and she smiled.

Yep, that was definitely love.


	2. Chapter 2

_Bed. Sleep._

She was so tired that all her brain could focus on was just slipping beneath the comforter, closing her eyes, and letting oblivion consume her.

_Bliss_.

Clad in Sean's Yankees shirt, and a pair of shorts that could be mistaken for underwear, Jo exhaled a soft sigh as the pillow puffed out around her head. Her eyes fluttered shut and she was on the verge of nothingness - when a loud rapping sounded on her front door. Loud. Heavy. _Persistent_.

She pushed herself up, sat on the mattress, and waited. Maybe they'd go away. _Wrong house. Move along._ But then it happened again, this time accompanied by a "Jo?" so loud that if she'd heard it then so had her neighbors.

Well, at least she knew who was on her doorstep, banging on her door, at almost midnight.

With a groan of annoyance, she forced herself to move, off the bed, out of the room. Tugging a robe on, she tied it as she made her way to the front door until the belt was knotted tight. She ran a hand through her hair before reaching for the locks, and then stopped herself. She wasn't sure why she'd taken that moment to fix her hair. As though Henry cared if she was a little mussed. Henry had made it clear recently that he _didn't_.

Pulling the door open, she fixed unimpressed eyes on him. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

And, _oh_ , he was drunk. _Stinking_ drunk. She could smell it emanating off him, like he went for a swim in a distillery, hauled himself out, and then walked straight to her door.

He looked up at her, struggling to focus, and she felt the sadness that was darkening his eyes penetrate right to her heart. "You're going to have the neighbors on my ass."

"Sorry," he replied, in a voice sober enough to sound a little sheepish.

"You wanna come in?" she asked in defeat, stepping back to allow him to enter. If he said no she would have dragged his sorry ass inside anyway; she couldn't let Henry and his sad eyes mope back home. Whatever the reason for it was, he was here, seeking her company, and she couldn't refuse him that.

He staggered into her home, his heavy, drunken steps almost comical. She held the door open, but he took hold of the handle and closed the door. She stood and watched as he locked it for her, swaying a little as he concentrated on the bolt, and then continued on ahead of her into her living room, where he flopped down on the couch.

Jo heaved a sigh and then followed him into her living room. She'd never seen _this_ Henry before; she had grown used to him being frustratingly guarded. She sat down beside him, a tempest of concern and confusion swirling in her stomach. "What's wrong?"

"I-" He hesitated. His brow furrowed in concentration and he said in a slow, measured tone, that could almost pass for sober, "If you had the opportunity to possibly cure an affliction, but it might perhaps result in death rather than freedom from said affliction, would you try?"

"What?" Jo frowned.

"I have a condition, Jo," he admitted, each word clear, not allowing himself to trip over his tongue, nor slur a single letter. "It's not contagious, don't worry."

"You're sick?" Her voice softened and she looked him over with wide eyes. "Henry, why did you never say anything?"

"It's not a sickness, it's… an affliction. A condition. One that I manage." He gave her a reassuring, drunken, smile. "I'm quite fine, I promise, but it has plagued me for years, and I might finally be free of it - or I might die."

"Does it affect your life so bad that it's worth taking the chance?"

"Yes." He shook his head. "No."

"Which is it?"

"I don't know."

Jo shook her own head as she tried to work through what he was telling her. "I don't understand. Did you find a possible cure?"

"I had some help. It mightn't be a cure. But there is a possibility."

"Can you test it on.." She waved a hand in the air. "A rat or something first?"

"No. This condition? It's rare."

"How rare?"

"I know of one other person afflicted."

"Wow," Jo breathed out. "That is rare."

"I would need to test it on myself."

"But you could die?"

"Yes."

"Is this condition so awful you'd be willing to risk it?"

"Some days, yes." His shoulders slumped. "I just want to live a normal life."

It took everything she had not to reach over and rub a comforting hand against his back. She had fallen asleep in his bed, kissed his cheek, curled up against him, and since then she felt he'd been putting a little distance between them. They'd spoken of it, only to assure each other nothing had changed and everything was fine, and then the subject had been dropped. This was the first time they'd spoken of anything not homicide related since. Her hand itched to touch him. Clasping both hands in her lap, she asked, "In what way do you not?"

"I really don't wish to go into detail."

She couldn't help it. Her brain went to the one place she wished it hadn't. "Henry," she began, choosing her next words carefully, "does this have something to do with, uh, a part of your, um, anatomy?" Her eyes drifted, down, without her permission. She dragged them back up to his face, but she'd already been busted.

"I assure you _that_ condition is much more common than my own, and, _really_ , Jo?"

She almost blushed. "So, not that then."

"No," he said, his voice firm. "Not that."

"Okay, listen, I don't know what you have, and you clearly have no interest in telling me, but just be honest for a moment, can you do that?" she asked. "Can you answer one question?"

"I can try."

"Will this condition ever affect your work? Could it risk someone's life, including your own?"

"No, and no."

"Are you in pain?"

"Not physical pain, no." He blinked. "That was more than one question."

She studied her hands, silent for a moment. Sucking in a breath, she forced herself to meet his eyes, and admitted, "It might be selfish, but I don't want to lose you, Henry. If you could die, I think that's too much to risk."

"I just want a normal life."

The pain in his voice broke her, and she couldn't keep this silently agreed upon distance between them any more. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she pulled him in for a sideways hug. Temples resting together, she murmured, "Is it worth risking _everything_ for though?"

His head turned, and he brushed his lips across her cheek. Like she had done to him; like the night they never talked about.

He pulled back and met her eyes, gazing at her so intensely she held a breath. "I should go,"' he said, his voice rough like the fine bristles peppering his jaw.

Jo sighed. "No, you should stay. Sleep it off on the couch, where I know you won't be tempted to down another bottle and then test your theory alone."

For a moment, he remained silent, contemplating it, before nodding in acceptance. Jo shifted so he could stretch out along the length of the couch, standing with the throw in her hand, placing it over him once he was settled. She allowed her hand to linger on his shoulder, squeezing it with a gentle pressure. "When you're ready to tell me more about it, I'm here," she told him. "In the meantime, please don't do anything stupid." It was meant to come out as a light-hearted plea, but her affection for him weighed her words down. Her eyes burned, and she blinked back tears.

"I will talk to you first," he promised, his voice fading, his own eyes already closed.

Her heart ached for him. She worried what he might do, how desperate he was for relief that he would risk death. He made a little bit more sense to her tonight, despite how little she knew. It almost explained his lack of self-preservation. _Almost._ Exhausted, Jo slipped back into bed and stared up in the darkness, at the ceiling she couldn't see. Hours slipped by, and still sleep refused to come; throughout the long night she lay on her back, eyes seeing nothing, mind working overtime.

The clock clicked from 5:10 to 5:11 and something spurred her to move. She threw the comforter off - and the sound of her front door closing reached her ears. Padding through her apartment, tying her robe as she entered her living room, she found the couch as she expected to: with just the throw folded neatly and placed with care at one end. Henry gone.

 

* * *

 

She found him in the morgue at eight, puttering around, keeping busy, doing nothing. He squinted against the light as he looked up, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You okay?"

A rueful smile tugged at his lips. "I must apologize for last night."

"Don't," she told him. "I'm glad you came by."

He gave her a disbelieving look. "Did you sleep?"

"Uh," she faltered.

"I didn't think so."

Shrugging it off, Jo said, "I'm glad I know this about you. Or kind of know _something_ , anyway."

"I want you to know more, I just-"

"I know," she said, cutting him off before he could repeat the same old excuses. "And, please, Henry, anytime you need to, come by, okay?" Giving him a soft smile, she added, "When you're ready to tell me more, I'll listen."

"Thank you."

She held his eyes with her own a beat too long, the gratitude in his making her heart swell in her chest, making her skin suddenly feel a whole lot warmer. Clearing her throat, she broke the connection and looked away. "So, no dead bodies, huh?" she said, gesturing at the empty slabs.

"A surprisingly quiet day," he agreed.

"Wanna come up to the precinct and watch Hanson work on his backswing?"

A grin lit up Henry's tired face. "I'd love to."

Looping her arm through his, she led him to the elevator. He walked with her, their sides brushing, bringing his hand up to cover her own, curled around his elbow. The week of distance was over and they were back to their usual rhythms, their usual lack of personal space. But despite her burst of relief, she was heartbroken for him, and whatever condition he was keeping to himself.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Completely unnecessary sidenote: I have a headcanon Jo is a Mets fan, while Sean was all about the Yankees, and Jo often jokingly threatened it was her or the shirt. But after he died she couldn't bring herself to dispose of it, and sleeps in it sometimes now.)


	3. Chapter 3

He could be so damn sweet sometimes.

Sometimes he could be a complete ass, point out her messy eye makeup and alcohol breath, or turn his nose up in disgust at her choice of dinner and make it known just how unimpressed he was by it. But then he could do something so damn sweet she almost forgot just how judgmental this _least judgemental person ever_ could be.

Like remember her birthday, when it felt like the world had forgotten.

Sitting on her couch, she held her now-silent phone in one hand and the birthday card in the other. Her heart felt like a balloon in her chest, bursting with love as she thought about the evening, a warmth filling her as she recalled the press of Henry's side against her own...

 

* * *

 

No one had said a word all day, and she had to admit it stung a bit.

Zipping up her coat, Jo stepped off the elevator and over to where Henry sat at his desk, scrawling the final words of his report. She rapped her knuckles on the open door and flashed him a smile as his eyes met hers. "Hey, you said to stop by before I left."

Stepping into the office, she claimed the chair opposite his and waited.

Henry would know. Somehow, he had figured it out.

"Yes. One moment." He reached down into a bottom drawer of his desk. When he straightened, he offered her a folder across the desk, and said, "The report Lieutenant Reece needed is completed. I thought you might pass it on to her."

Jo deflated. So much for Henry not letting her down. "Oh." Dejected, she reached for the folder, dropped her gaze, and moved to stand.

"Mind taking a look before you leave," he suggested, halting her exit.

She frowned, but did as requested. Still seated, she opened the folder, and smiled softly as it revealed a white envelope nestled inside, her name on the front in Henry's flowing penmanship.

"Happy birthday, Jo."

She pursed her lips in annoyance, but as hard as she tried she couldn't suppress the smile. Giving in, she met his eyes and grinned. "Thank you."

Henry stood and moved around his desk. "Open it later," he told her.

"Okay," she replied. She was a little confused as to why, but did as asked, not making a move to break the seal on the back of the crisp, white envelope. She placed the empty folder on his desk and smiled up at him.

He reached for her hand. "Right now, your presence is required at McSorley's."

Glancing behind her as she stood, helped to her feet by Henry's hand in hers, she realized she hadn't seen Lucas or Hanson for a good half hour. Turning to face Henry, the card held securely against her thigh, she said in a huff of annoyance, "Let me guess, this was Hanson's idea?"

"Something about payback for one of his birthdays a few years back?" Henry questioned.

Jo sighed. "Thought I'd gotten away with that one too." Looping her hand through his offered elbow, she held the envelope tight and walked out of the office with him, her mind swirling as to why she couldn't open it just yet.

 

* * *

 

They engulfed her in hugs the moment she stepped into the bar, Henry hanging back, leaving her side for the first time since they'd left his office.

Hanson gave her a firm pat on the back, announcing, "I'm not even a little bit sorry, Jo. Happy birthday."

She laughed. "Thank you, Mike."

Lucas was a little more clingy, the embrace he had her in lingering until it threatened to turn awkward, but was sweet nonetheless. She eased out of it, thanking him, and then slid into the booth.

Nestled between Henry and the wall, Hanson and Lucas opposite, she laughed her way through the evening, allowing herself to get thoroughly hammered on expensive whiskeys, Henry's treat. Her heart swelled with love when a cupcake was delivered to the table, the lone candle flickering in the dim bar while her friends sang an off-key, slightly slurred rendition of _happy birthday_. She laughed and blew out the candle on the third attempt.

She was drunk.

She had to be if she was leaning heavily against Henry without a care as to how it might look. Neither Hanson nor Lucas appeared fazed by it, neither said a word when his arm slung around her shoulders, and he murmured a, "Happy birthday," into her ear, words meant only for her to hear. His arm stayed around her shoulder long after he'd started arguing with Lucas across the table about the use of some piece of morgue equipment Lucas seemed to feel was awesome while Henry thought it redundant.

Content to lean her drunk self against her partner, she chuckled as Lucas got Henry worked up, meeting Hanson's eyes and grinning like a fool. He rolled his eyes at the discussion, returning her grin.

How silly she had been, to think her friends had forgotten. She would of course be getting Lucas back in some way. Henry _might_ be forgiven, if he continued to prop her up so she didn't slump along the seat in a happy but inebriated heap.

"Hate to leave, but-"

"Karen," she and Lucas said in unison, inciting a chuckle from Henry.

"Happy birthday, Jo," Hanson said one last time, before bidding them goodnight.

Lucas bounded off for refills, and she found herself nestled in the booth, pressed tight against her partner, his arm still behind her but resting along the top of the leather seat now.

"Henry?" she began, leaning back, studying him. "It's my birthday."

The corner of his lips twitched. "It is," he agreed.

"People generally receive gifts on their birthday."

"The card-" he began, but she silenced him with a shake of her head.

"There's something else I want."

"Oh?"

He looked terrified, and she thought he was right to look as such. "I want you," she began, slowly, drawing it out, "to tell me more about your condition. Just one more thing. Something you want to tell me, of course. Let me understand it - _you_ \- a little more."

It had been weeks since the night on her couch. Maybe he thought she'd forgotten, hoped she had, but she never would.

He was silent as he considered her words. Nodding, he said, "It's changed the way I look at death."

"Do you wish for death?" she asked. She'd been concerned for him since he spoke of possibly ending his life. She didn't think him suicidal, but desperation could lead rational people to bad decisions. She needed to know he was doing okay.

"No," he assured her. "I simply wish for a normal life."

"Okay," she said. "So, is it the reason you became an M.E?"

"Partly, yes."

"To study cadavers and try to cure whatever it is you have?"

"I promise you won't catch it."

"I believe you."

"And yes, to answer your question. But it's more complicated than that."

"It always is with you," she said, her tone dry.

"Hey, Jo," he said.

"Yes?"

"It's your birthday."

"It is," she replied, a small frown creasing her brow, an intrigued smile playing on her lips.

"My gift to you is a promise that one day I will tell you everything."

"But not tonight."

"No."

His hand slipped down to curl around her waist. He squeezed her hip, and left his hand there. She rather liked that.

"But soon, I think," he finished.

She could accept that. Turning her head, she murmured near his ear, "Did you organize this?"

He nodded.

"You've had a lot to organize recently, you didn't have to do this." She had caught him staring off wistfully on a few occasions the past couple of days. The funeral was in two days, and she couldn't help wonder if tonight was for him as much as it was for her. She couldn't begrudge him if that was the case. Whatever Abe's mother had meant to him, she was gone, and tomorrow her remains would be interred one final time. Leaning in just a little closer, Jo asked, "Is Abe doing okay?"

Henry dropped his gaze to the glass resting against his palm. "Better than I am." He sighed. "For thirty years she had been there, alone, abandoned."

"Oh, Henry." She watched him focus on his drink, saw the tight lines in the corners of his eyes as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "The past few days have been emotional for both you and Abe. You didn't need to do this for me tonight."

"No," he disagreed. "You're my friend, Jo." He looked up and gave her a soft smile. "And it's good," he admitted. "To finally know what happened to her. We spent so many years wondering if she could be alive, where she might be. Knowing the truth is closure."

"If you need me on Friday, call okay?"

"I'll be fine." Dipping his chin, fixing his eyes on the liquid he was swirling in his glass again, he said solemnly, "Abigail would have liked you."

The comment, seemingly out of nowhere, surprised her. "Abigail?" Jo blinked. "You mean Sylvia, right? Or did we switch topics somewhere?" Her brain felt a little fuzzy. Maybe she'd missed something.

"Sorry. Yes, Sylvia," he said, a little too quick. Taking a breath, he repeated, "Abe's mother would have liked you, Jo."

"That's really nice of you to say," she murmured. The name now on her mind, she couldn't stop herself asking, "What happened to Abigail?"

Henry's voice was thick with sorrow as he replied, "Let's not darken this evening any further."

"Is she still alive, Henry?" she asked on a whisper.

He lifted his eyes to hers and they said it all.

"I'm sorry," she said, her heart breaking just a little more for him.

Blinking back tears, Henry managed a tight smile. He turned to face her, emotion shining in his eyes. And maybe it was because she was drunk, or feeling just a little emotional herself, but for the first time in their almost year-long friendship Jo found herself leaning in, eyes on his lips, wanting to pour hope into him, steal some of his pain. Wanting to just-

But then he shifted, before any mistakes could be made. He brushed his lips against her hairline, allowing just a whisper of contact, before murmuring, "I think we've had a lot to drink."

"I know we have," Jo replied, her voice little more than a sigh. She yawned, stifling it with a hand.

"Shall we call it a night?" Henry asked.

"Might be best," she agreed. If she was with any other man she'd be sure he meant together. But this was Henry, and even drunk she knew he meant separately. His arm retreating from around her cemented that.

Lucas returned with a final shot for all three of them. They threw them back, slammed the glasses on the table, and bid one another a good night, Lucas opting to stay a little longer. _There's this girl at the bar,_ he had admitted, before making an unfortunate comment about how it was Jo's birthday but he was getting the gifts, a comment that had made both her and Henry groan and exit with haste.

"Share a cab?" Jo asked. They walked side-by-side out into the night, her side pressing against his when the cold air hit her skin through her clothing. His arm instinctively snaked around her waist, and she realized then how much she craved it now. A night pressed to his side, his arm holding her close, left her wanting it all the time. But perhaps that was a thought for another day, her intoxicated brain reading more into it than it should.

Henry smiled. "Abe's parked a little farther down, ready to take you home."

She laughed, her hip bumping his as her body shook. Of course he was.

"Unless you'd rather just sleep on our couch again?"

"I think home is best," she told him, sobering a little.

"Yes."

They walked down the street on unsteady legs, staying close to one another - for balance. And even once in the back of Abe's car they gravitated together.

"Happy birthday, kid," Abe said, his tone warm.

"Thank you," she replied, half aware she was pressed against a person the older man probably thought of as a son. She clutched at Henry's jacket as Abe swerved around the traffic, chuckling as one corner almost deposited her in his lap. She could swear Abe was doing it on purpose. Henry's arm settled around her shoulders once more, and they secured each other, but she didn't miss the glare Henry threw Abe via the rear-view mirror.

Closing her eyes, Jo settled back and hummed in drunken contentment.

"Still have your card?" he asked, his lips so near her temple she could feel his breath.

"In my pocket," she replied, eyes still closed, lips turned up in a smile.

"Remember to open it once you're home."

"I will," she promised.

The car lurched to a stop and she opened her eyes, and found Henry staring openly at her.

"Oh for God's sake, it's her birthday. Just kiss her already."

Jo's mouth fell slack in surprise, but Henry merely smirked at Abe's outburst, and brushed his lips across her cheek.

"See you tomorrow," Henry said after he'd pulled back. He disentangled himself from her, and exited the car, almost tripping himself as he did so.

Laughter bubbled out of her. She allowed him to open the door for her, and carefully exited. "You're bringing the coffee," she told him.

"Anything for the birthday girl."

Jo chuckled again. Standing on the sidewalk, she met his eyes, and the feeling returned. She felt herself being pulled to him, but it wasn't right. Her brain drunkenly slurred something about it not being the right time, but she couldn't understand how she had gone from having no desire to kiss him, to wanting to cover his lips completely with her own, run her hands through his hair, press her body to his, all in the space of one evening.

But maybe it had started months ago. And maybe she'd just been better at ignoring it then.

She resisted, gave him a smile, and wished him a good night. Abe waited until she was entering her apartment before they drove away. It was nice having someone watch out for her like that. It wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, warmed her, and made her heart swell in her chest. She sat on her couch, tugged the throw off the back, wrapping it around her to cling to the feeling, and eased the envelope out of her pocket. She stared at the white paper, her name written with care, before carefully breaking the wax seal, and sliding the card out.

A watercolor of flowers was splashed on the front of the card, and in a space in the middle of the flowers the text read:

_My heart goes forth to meet thee,_

_O my friend,_

_With tender greetings, but these fair flowers tell_

_Of one, who knowing neither change nor end_

_Loveth thee best, though others love thee well._

The card looked old. She ran a fingertip lightly over the old-fashion font, her eyes reading the words again and again. Opening it with care, and an unsteady hand, she held a breath, her heart tripping in her chest in anticipation of what might be written within.

She exhaled as the words were revealed. Simple, but perfect.

_Dearest Jo,_

_many happy returns_

_With affection,_

_Henry_

Curled up on her couch, Jo held the card in her lap, and flipped between the words on the front and those scrawled neatly inside. She glanced at the time. He would be home now. Without hesitation she reached for her phone and selected his name.

"Hello?" he answered, and she heard a smile in his voice.

"Thank you for the card."

There was a slight pause, before he replied, "You're very welcome, Jo."

"It looks old, where did you find it?"

"I've had it for many years, waiting for the right person."

"I'm touched," she said, her voice solemn. "Thank you for tonight, for all of it."

"Did you have a nice evening?"

"It was perfect. I'm sorry if I dragged it down a little."

"No harm done," he assured her. "Did you read the front of the card?"

She smiled. "I did. It's beautiful."

He didn't instantly respond, and a comfortable silence filled the distance between them. A warm buzz of static, from the line, to her heart, diffused through her, warming her. She swore she could hear his smile in each soft puff as he exhaled, her own breathing a little stilted, a little broken by emotion.

"Goodnight, Henry," he said in a low voice, hating to break this strange moment taking place between them.

"Goodnight, sweet Jo."

Her heart swelled in her chest from his words, spoken, written, chosen for her. The call had ended, but it couldn't break the connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I liked Isaac, I really did. But he and Jo had ZERO chemistry. Which made me sad, because I brotp Jo and Henry on the show SO HARD (I ship them like a crazy person in fic, but I'm still a little finishipper about their relationship in canon. That's weird, right?) and I wanted more out of that Jo/Isaac relationship. The point of this rambling is to say: consider this story an AU where Isaac never existed. I really did like him, but this fic doesn't need him. Sorry, dude. Wish you'd had more chemistry with Jo.
> 
> PS: I looked through a bunch of photos of the interior of McSorley's. Couldn't find any booths :( So let's pretend, 'kay?


	4. Chapter 4

"If you unwrap that gyro I'll be forced to invite you over for dinner."

Jo gave him a withering glare and tore the foil off her dinner, maintaining eye contact with him as she bit into the pita bread. "You're a snob, Henry," she told him around a mouthful of food. She brought the binoculars up and peered through them, through the windshield, for any signs of activity near the warehouse they were parked outside of.

She heard him sigh in defeat, and continued munching on her food to hide her smirk.

"Tomorrow night, six PM, come hungry."

Chuckling around the top of the gyro, she tore off another mouthful and lowered the binos. She wasn't even particularly hungry, but she knew that trapping Henry in a confined space with food he found nauseating would inevitably lead to a dinner invitation - so she may have unnecessarily dragged him out on this stakeout.

Maybe she'd been looking for an excuse to spend a little more time with him. An excuse to drink a little, sit next to him, lean her body against his, steal his warmth, and pretend they could inch towards something less platonic, despite his stubbornly secretive ways.

Maybe there was nothing _maybe_ about it.

 

* * *

 

She brought wine - after a lengthy conversation over the phone with Abe as to what bottle Henry wouldn't turn his nose up at - because she never felt right turning up empty-handed. The aroma of meat sauce wafted down into the antique store as she was ushered through by a smartly-dressed Abe, her nose assuring her the Sangiovese had been a good choice. She found Henry in the kitchen, stirring a wooden spoon in a pot, with a pleased smile on his lips. His smile grew when he saw her, and he beckoned her over with the spoon, one hand under it to catch any of the rich, red sauce that might drip, offering her a taste.

"Smells amazing," she told him.

"Tastes even better," he said with confidence.

She eyed the spoon, but a strange feeling of shyness overcame her and she shook her head. "I believe you. I'll wait." She offered him the bottle of wine instead, allowing him a moment to put the spoon back in the pot and wipe his hands before accepting it.

"This is unnecessary," he told her, holding up the bottle, taking in the label. "But thank you."

Sauce simmering, bottle in his hands, he led her out onto the terrace, and she noted the two place settings. "Abe's not joining us?"

"Abraham has a date," Henry replied.

"Aw, so he wasn't all dressed up for me. Pity."

"Like the older men, do you, Detective?"

"Would you be jealous if I said yes?" she teased.

He let out a joyful puff of air, focusing on the cork but reacting to her words. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he poured two generous glasses of the red wine.

She accepted a glass, and gave him a slightly crooked smile that mirrored his own. "You've got that look on your face again," she told him, swirling an index finger before him.

"What look?" he asked.

She sipped from her glass, studying his face while she savored the hints of strawberries and spice in the young wine. "All soft and wistful," she finally replied. "Like you're lost in the past."

His warm eyes flittered over her features, and a small, knowing smile played on his lips. "Only if yesterday counts," he said. He hesitated, and after silent consideration, added, "I've been on a few stakeouts lately." He took a small step closer.

She suppressed the smirk threatening to take over her face. "You have," she agreed.

The distance between them lessened again. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in thought, like _her_ behavior confused _him_. "You are welcome here any time, Jo. I believe I've mentioned that before."

Well and truly busted, she did her best to hide her guilt behind her wine glass. Holding it in front of her lips, she said, "I believe we were both horribly drunk the night you mentioned that." She punctuated her sentence with a sip of wine.

"Then perhaps we should spend this evening sober." He reached for her glass, and she surrendered it, allowing him to place both glasses on the table.

His palm fell to her lower back and he guided her over to the edge of the terrace, his hand lingering against her spine. His touch burned through her, made her want to sink into him and see if it might ignite something within him.

"You've mentioned a lot of things while under the influence of alcohol recently," she told him, feeling brave now.

"Not enough for you."

Her shoulders sagged a little as she gazed out over the quiet street, the only noises filtering up coming from the occasional car horn, or people walking by. She tried to ignore the sirens in the distance; they weren't her problem tonight.

"No," she said when her silence threatened to stretch too long.

She felt a gentle pressure on her back and allowed her body to be turned by his careful hands. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, refusing to back down. His fingers ghosted off her back and tripped across her wrist. Lacing their fingers together, Henry nodded, absorbing her response, but there was a rueful edge to his eyes now.

Sadness was seeping in, threatening the evening; she felt it invading her heart, forced in by the voice in her head that was telling her nothing good could come from falling in love with your best friend.

_Oh._

Was that what had happened?

"Your patience is appreciated."

"It's running out," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I know." He squeezed her hand and gave her a tight smile. "I'm almost there, I-"

A low rumble sounded between them, and Jo glanced down at her stomach, before lifting her eyes to Henry's shining ones. The tension broken, she shook her head, more at herself than him. "You told me to come hungry," she reminded him, a touch of mirthful embarrassment in her voice.

He chuckled, and the serious tone of the evening eased towards something lighter. "That I did." With her hand still clasped in his he gave a gentle tug and guided her back to the table. "I won't be a moment," he said, making sure she was seated before slipping his hand from hers and retreating back into the apartment.

She watched him go, her mind spinning like an out-of-control carousel. It was tempting, to follow him inside, offer to help with dinner, but part of her needed this space. Part of her knew exactly what she might be tempted to do in the small kitchen: corner him and force him to open up to her. Or kiss him. _It could go either way_ , she silently reminded herself. _And no, Martinez, neither will end well._

She had tried to force answers out of him before; she was growing tired of his goldfish impersonations. He would talk when he was ready. She wondered if she'd be around to hear it. At what point would she give up on him? He didn't have to be so guarded with her. She'd told him that so many times. If only he believed her.

As for the kissing, his skillful dodging of her lips on her birthday left little doubt in her mind as to how he felt about that. Before she could dwell on it he stepped back outside with two plates of steaming food, and with the sadness back in his eyes, perhaps reflected from the darkening of her own.

He placed a plate before her, and all she could say was, "I'm sorry."

He gave his head a slight shake as he sat. "You have no reason to be sorry." He lifted his eyes to her. "I want you to know my story."

"One day, right?" Her voice was flat. Maybe it was resignation; maybe she'd just given up. Maybe she would never crack Henry Morgan's Lonsdaleite exterior.

"You have my word."

"Okay," she said in acceptance.

Maybe she simply clung to hope that he might surprise her.

 

* * *

 

They ate, discussing safe topics between bites of food. Long after the final morsels were scraped off of plates, and the last drops of wine drained, they sat, the air cooling around them. Jo smiled, recounting the most recent "death" of Lucas' she'd walked in on, and suggested that perhaps Henry should be the victim next time.

His face darkened just briefly, but he caught himself. "Perhaps." His features softened and he chuckled in agreement. "For his birthday."

"You do give good gifts," Jo agreed. A breeze skimmed her bare arms and she shivered slightly. All she could think about was how warm she had been wrapped in his arms that night.

"Shall we move this inside?"

"I should probably go, actually," she replied, finding herself hoping he might convince her to say. "Getting late."

He didn't argue. She made a move to collect her plate but he stopped her with a hand, and she thought, _maybe_...

"The guest never cleans up. Come," he said. "Allow me to walk you out."

Quelling the disappointment before it could bother her, she left her plate and fell into step beside him. They moved through the apartment together, down the stairs, through the antique store she kept meaning to browse one day, to actually take time and admire the treasures Abe had collected over the years. Once at the door, she stopped and turned to him. "Thank you for dinner."

"Stop by any time."

"I'm really more of an invite-only kind of girl."

"Then I'll make sure that happens. Often." His voice was gentle, sincere, and the words buzzed through her, carried to her heart by the wine in her bloodstream.

"You are incredibly sweet." The words slipped out, heavy with emotion, and she ducked her chin. With her head down, she didn't see him moving in. It wasn't until his fingers were laced with hers, startling her slightly, that she lifted her eyes.

He gave her a sheepish smile. "And you have such patience."

"Only for you," she said, her voice soft.

The swirling mix of sadness and warmth in his eyes constricted her throat, making the lump that had suddenly formed there impossible to swallow. Holding her hand tight in his, he leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek. She sucked in a breath as he pulled back, hoping the pounding of her heart wasn't shaking her entire body. Hoping he couldn't hear the beating that was so loud in her ears it drowned all else out. It shouldn't affect her like this, shouldn't make her cheeks flush and her heart trip in her chest.

_Love,_ the voice in her head reminded her. _You're in love_.

Her eyes dipped to his lips, the memory of them again her skin almost burning her cheek.

_No._

Instead of leaning in, instead of doing the one thing she found herself desperate to do, she took a step back, whispered, "Goodnight, Henry," and slipped out the door before he could respond.

She didn't look back as she walked, only faced forward with determination and extended a hand to hail a cab. She couldn't kiss him. She couldn't kiss someone who refused to open up to her, who kept secrets and still mourned an ex.

But, oh, she wanted to...

...If only he would let her in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: As stated in chapter one, this chapter has finale spoilers.

He had died. In front of her. Shot, by a man she recognized, a man he called Adam, on a dirty platform in an abandoned section of the subway.

He had _died._

He had taken his last breath before her eyes.

And then he had _vanished_.

Before she'd even had a chance to blink, both Henry and Adam were gone, and she was left kneeling, alone, on the grime, rats her only company as they scurried past. But even they kept a wide berth as they continued on their way. _Look out for the crazy lady._

Bodies didn't just disappear. She had shielded her eyes, just for a second, as a bright light had engulfed him. Disbelief flooded her. Her hands felt around on the filthy platform, like he she had lost her mind and he was still there, somewhere.

But Henry had said he was sick. _No, think, Martinez, think-  
_ Her palm hit the platform with a sharp slap, the pain shooting through her, firing up her brain.

_"It's not a sickness, it's… an affliction. A condition. One that I manage."_

His slurred words played through her mind. She knelt there, staring at graffiti-covered tunnel walls but seeing none of it as Henry's voice repeated the conversation they'd had that night on the couch, word-for-drunken word.

_"This condition, it's rare."_

_"How rare?"_

_"I know of one other person afflicted."_

"Adam," she breathed out. Her brain was making connections, her hand already gripping her cell phone, already dialing Hanson.

"Hey," he answered. "What's up?"

"Mike," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, a hand on the dirty concrete keeping her balanced. "I need you to pull up Henry's file." _Sound sane. Don't let Hanson have you committed._

"Why?"

"Just, do it, please?" Desperation leaked into her voice, and she swallowed down the sob before it could escape.

"Now?"

"Hurry." _Please._

There was a moment of silence, and then Hanson's voice turned serious as he replied, "Okay, hold on, I'm getting it." A beat. "What am I looking for?"

"Where did his skinny dipping episodes take place?"

A tapping of keys, a click of the mouse. "Same area every time. Dumbo," he replied. "The doc's been picked up on New Dock Street, Main, and once near the carousel."

"Thanks, Hanson."

"You gonna tell me what this is about?"

"Sorry," Jo apologized, ending the call with haste. She picked herself up off the concrete and forced her trembling legs to carry her to her car. One destination on her mind, without any understanding of _why_.

 

* * *

 

Maybe she was crazy, maybe she'd been exposed to some mind-altering substance, but she kept driving, scanning the streets, keeping her eyes peeled for her naked partner. Pulling off to the side of the road, she cut the engine, grabbed a flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, and made her way to the river. He couldn't be dead; it was that stubborn denial that forced her to where the water lapped at the shore, light shining out across the calm surface, searching for signs of a disturbance. A rustling in a bush startled her, and she turned, lighting up the shrubs, praying for sanity. Praying for her partner.

"Henry?" she asked, hesitant, gun ready in case it was Adam.

He stepped out from behind the bush, covering himself as best he could, dripping, shivering, and very naked. When he saw the gun he moved his hands to raise them.

"Oh for God's sake, Henry. Lower your hands."

"Thought you might shoot me," he said, covering himself once more.

"It's tempting." She glanced around. "Adam?"

"Not here."

"Okay." Holstering her gun, Jo turned and began walking back to her car. "C'mon, Henry, let's get you warm."

"You're not going to ask?" he asked, catching up to her.

"How you died, disappeared, and ended up here?" When he gave her a sheepish smile in response, she said, "It's a long story, right?"

"One I've wanted to tell you for a long time."

She wasn't thinking about it. Forcing her brain to ignore all she had seen, she busied herself with helping him, desperately focusing on getting him covered up, and not on how she had seen him die. No. She couldn't think about that. She definitely wasn't thinking about how his body had disappeared. Because that wasn't possible. And she was most certainly not thinking about just a few minutes ago when he raised his hands and exposed himself. Nope.

Opening the trunk, she grabbed a blanket, shook it out, and then stepped back over to her partner, wrapping it around his shoulders. She stood in front of him, smiling sadly as she pulled the ends together. Covered now, he took the ends from her and held the blanket secure. They stood under a starless sky, their breath visible in the space between them as they exhaled but didn't say a word. She held his eyes, and the questions could no longer be denied. She needed answers. Now.

Turning from him, she strode to her car and slid behind the wheel without a glance back at him, but hearing his soft footfalls she was satisfied he was following. She started the engine and cranked the heat up. "Where's Adam?" she asked once he was settled beside her, seatbelt on, blanket pulled tight.

He turned and met her eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. "I revive in water, but where he revives is a mystery."

"You revive…" She trailed off as her brain recalled more of the conversation she and Henry had shared that night on her couch.

_"I just want to live a normal life."_

_"In what way do you not?"_

_"I really don't wish to go into detail."_

Running a hand through her hair, she said, "You have a condition."

"I do."

"You can't die?"

"Not permanently."

Gripping the steering wheel, Jo said, "You come back, naked, in the East River."

"Yes."

"And Adam is the only other person you know of who shares this condition." They weren't even questions anymore.

"He was testing his theory tonight, that being killed with the weapon that gave us this curse would result in either curing us, or permanent death."

"So he shot you."

"Yes. But I'm still here, still immortal I assume, so it seems his theory was flawed."

"Immortal," she repeated, testing the word on her tongue like it had taken on new significance. She supposed it had, though. It had meaning now, there was proof beside her. "When did you get this condition, this.. whatever it is?"

He hesitated for a beat, before saying in a gentle voice, "Eighteen fourteen."

Jo laughed. She couldn't help it. It started as a bubble of disbelief, before threatening to turn into hysterical laughter. She reined it in, and took a breath. "Eighteen fourteen? Henry? I-"

"I told you it was a long story."

"No kidding." Shaking her head, she muttered, "This is insane."

"I've wanted to tell you for so long, Jo. I want you to know everything."

Easing the car back onto the road and towards Manhattan, she said, "Start now."

Absorbing his story as she navigated the streets, she had to stop the car and pull off to the side of the road when he revealed Abe was his son.

_"Abigail would have liked you."_

_"Abigail? You mean Sylvia, right? Or did we switch topics somewhere?"_

_"Sorry. Yes, Sylvia. Abe's mother would have liked you, Jo."_

"Henry," she breathed, stunned by the possibility. "Sylvia…"

"Was Abigail," he said, sadness filling his voice. "I buried my wife two weeks ago."

Running a shaking hand through her hair, she took a moment to digest that.

"I never hurt her," he was quick to assure her. "Never physically, in case you had that in your head about why she left. The more time passed, the more difficult it all became."

"She aged," Jo said knowingly. "And you didn't."

"And she-" His voice broke. "My beloved Abigail took her own life to protect me, to keep Adam from finding me. She made the ultimate sacrifice for me. For nothing."

"I'm so sorry." She reached over, her hand still not as steady as she'd have liked, and touched his arm. "You buried your wife." She squeezed his arm. "I wish you'd have let me… I know what it's like, Henry. You know that. You could have talked to me."

"I know." He gave her a sad smile. "I just wanted to protect you."

"I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

"Against an immortal?" He tightened his hold on the blanket, pulling it closer to his skin.

"I don't know," she finally accepted. She watched him shiver beneath the blanket and turned up the heat a little more. "How long does it usually take you to recover after, uh, dying?"

"Usually quicker than this, but this death was a little different."

"Oh?"

"Like I said, that gun and I have history."

His hand rubbed over puckered skin, and she wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

"The scar on your chest?"

"My first death," he admitted, his hand stilling.

She exhaled and slipped her hand off his arm and onto the steering wheel. Once she was back amidst the NYC traffic, Jo shook her head and murmured, "You are even stranger than I thought you were, Doctor Morgan."

"But you believe me?"

"Hard not to considering what I saw tonight."

 

* * *

 

He didn't stop talking. He had a moment of caution as he unlocked the entrance to the antique store, aware of strangers as they passed by, their eyes darting briefly to this strange man clad only in a blanket on the streets of New York, but still he spoke, still he told her the story of his life. The gate-floods had opened, the words flowed freely now.

He led her upstairs, sat her down, and the words continued. A deluge of history was washing over her; she almost felt like she was drowning. It was too much for one night. Pressing a hand to his blanket-clad chest, she gave him a tight smile, and said, "Tell me the rest tomorrow?"

"Tired?"

"Exhausted."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. It's just a lot for one evening."

"I understand." His sad eyes flittered between her own. "It's late, Jo. Let us put you up for the night."

"Stay here?" she asked, a hesitance in her voice.

"Please. I think I'd prefer you were close by. Call it even, for the night I slept on your couch."

The night he turned up stinking drunk and alluded to his immortality. Oh, God. So much made sense now. Too much. It was too much.

"You saw me die, and I'm still alive. If you wake up, if you find you need proof, I'll at least be close by."

"And it's not because you're worried about Adam?"

"No," he said, resolute. "I worry about you."

Standing, he reached for her hand and she took it, she placed her palm against his and their fingers laced together. He led her down the hall and opened the door to his bedroom. She forced herself to look straight ahead, in case the blanket had shifted and she got a repeat of earlier. _Don't look, don't look, don't look._

"Take the bed, Jo. I can sleep on the couch."

"We've shared a bed before, Henry," she reminded him.

"If you're sure?"

"Aren't you supposed to be all, 'oh no, we couldn't, I insist on the couch'." His mouth dropped open, mortification filled his eyes, and she could only chuckle at him. "I'm kidding, Henry," she assured him. With more than a touch of shyness in her voice, she added, "I want you close by."

Turning, he opened a drawer, and pulled out the pajamas she'd seen him in once before. He handed her the top half, while he kept the bottom. "To sleep in," he explained, unnecessarily, and she thought it might be the first time she'd ever thought of him as shy. Usually he was bold, unafraid of uncomfortable situations. Stripped of all his secrets, she didn't think she'd ever seen him so exposed before.

"Works for me," she said in a gentle voice and accepted the top from him. She excused herself to get changed in his bathroom, very much aware this was insanely different to last time. Last time, she'd passed out in his bed, alone. Last time she'd been drunk and in no state to make any kind of move. This time… So much had happened since. They'd grown closer; they touched one another more now. She might wake up and find herself wrapped around him, head on his chest, leg slipped between his, hands in places they shouldn't be. She trusted him but… could she trust herself?

After a quick pep talk to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she splashed water on her face, the cold shocking her back to the reality of the other side of the bathroom door, and reached for the handle, willing her hand to steady.

She entered his room to find him already in the bed, on his back, sheet covering less of him than she had anticipated. Her eyes fell to his torso, trailing up to the old scar marring his skin. But she found herself fixated on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft puffs of air the only sounds filling the room as he breathed.

Desire was muted as relief flooded her. He was still breathing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft as he watched her.

Shaking herself out of it, she padded up to the bed and nodded. "You're alive," she said by way of explanation.

He sat up and turned to her. He offered his arm, a place for her to rest against, a literal shoulder. She hesitated, before exhaling in acceptance and sliding up against him, until her side was pressed to his and her head met his shoulder. It had become so normal, touching, that she wondered how they'd gone so long comforting one another with mere words - and a bottle of whiskey. Her palm flattened against his warm, smooth chest, her fingertips skimming the bottom of his scar, and she allowed her eyes to close, allowed her body to relax into his, and forget he was over two hundred years old. Forget he was impossible. She hadn't truly allowed herself to let it all sink in. If she had, she might be at home now, wide awake, losing her mind over all she had seen, all she had heard. Or maybe not. Because ultimately, he was still Henry, and she trusted him. Completely.

"Jo?" he started, his voice low, but demanding her attention.

"Hmmm?" she hummed, eyes still closed, her body being eased ever closer to sleep.

"The first night you slept in this bed, the night Lucas had the couch, I became aware of something."

"What?" she asked, her voice subdued by the pull of oblivion.

"I became aware that my feelings for you weren't quite so platonic anymore."

And just like that she was wide awake. "Oh, Henry, really?" she murmured, disappointment in her tone. "Now?" She blinked up at him, but didn't pull away.

"You know everything else, Jo. I can't keep secrets from you anymore. So it's best you know that as well."

"There are thing we need to talk about before we even think about discussing that," she reminded him. "Like the fact you recently buried your wife and need to heal. I'm not ready to complicate us. There's no way you are."

"We're already complicated, we've simply been ignoring it."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "There's probably more truth in that than I care to admit to." The smile fell off her lips. "Tonight I found out you're immortal, that the secret you'd been keeping from me was beyond anything I had imagined." Easing away from him to put some space between them, she said, "My feelings for you aren't quite so platonic anymore either but I need time to process everything."

"Time is something I have."

"I don't," she whispered.

"Something I am aware of, believe me," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

When a tear spilled down her cheek, he leaned in, ready to catch it with his lips, but she turned her head, and brushed her lips across his. Bringing her hand to his cheek, she pressed her lips a little harder to his. He returned the kiss, his own hands coming up to tangle in her hair, the pads of his fingers massaging her scalp, his lips caressing hers. She sighed into his mouth, pouring her emotion into him. The kiss stayed sweet, stayed gentle and soft, and it felt like a silent promise, tinged with all the apologies no words could express.

Pulling back, Jo's hand fell from his cheek and she said on a sigh, "You died."

"But you knew where to find me."

Her eyes held him. The words caught in her throat and all she could do was nod was in response.

His hands worked through her loose tresses, smoothing down the mess he'd made. He cupped her face, and kissed her forehead lovingly. "We should sleep."

"Is Adam still out there?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You're not safe, Henry."

"He has what he needs for now."

"And that is?"

"His theory was proved wrong, so he'll take some time to work through that. And-" He cut himself off, and pressed his lips to her forehead again, lingering this time, before murmuring against her skin, "You know my secret. I was terrified of you finding out, and he knew that. He has what he needs for now." She heard his breath hitch before he added, "If I'd told you sooner-"

"I promise it's okay." And it really was. She might never have believed him if he'd just come out and said it. She might have stopped visiting the morgue as often, put distance between herself and the crazy man. She might have forced herself to move on.

She clung to him now; she curled up against him and they slid down the bed together, until his chest became her pillow and the steady beating of his heart her lullaby.

"Tell me the rest of your story tomorrow, Henry," she murmured, voice fading. "And in time we'll figure us out."

He dropped a kiss to her temple. "Sleep well, Jo," he whispered, his lips ghosting her skin.

 

* * *

 

But by the shift in her breathing she was already gone, asleep in the arms of a man who'd admitted his immortality, who'd kept the secret from her for too long - and yet she still trusted him.

He didn't deserve her.

He shifted slightly, and his back twinged from the sudden movement. Maybe it was just from the day they'd had, but when he'd dragged himself out of the water he hadn't felt quite so energized. He'd _felt_ like he'd just been shot, and drowned, and he hadn't quite been able to shake off the cold. He felt .. older? His limbs seemed heavier, and he swore there was a dull ache in his left knee, the knee he had landed hard on during his thirty-fourth year, the knee that had given him hell the following winter.

Jo snuffled softly against him, curling her body tighter into his. He gazed down at her and smiled wistfully. Wrapping her in his arms, he pressed his nose to her hair and breathed her in, allowing himself to slowly give into sleep.

He would dwell on all these long-forgotten aches and pains tomorrow.

* * *

_**End.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not a spec fic because I've thought about Jo discovering his secret in the finale so much that I've now convinced myself she won't find out :/
> 
> But another reveal fic. I have a problem, I know. I. can't. stop. Honestly, can she just find out already so my brain can move on?
> 
> I tried not to write an angsty reveal, but perhaps it's too fluffy. Perhaps Jo is too quick to accept it all. Or perhaps it works for this AU.
> 
> Drop your thoughts in the review box if you're so inclined. AND GROUP HUG, FANDOM, BECAUSE THE FINALE IS SO CLOSE MY HEART IS CLENCHING ALREADY. *wheezes* SEND HELP. PREFERABLY IN THE FORM OF WINE.


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